Overworked
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: The headache is small enough to be ignorable, but persistent enough to be miserable. Pre-Cullen x Dorian


**Overworked**

**A Word**: Request for them and being overworked.

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The headache is awful only because the pain and pressure of it is constant. It's not even bad enough for him to consider ordering a bark tea to help relieve it. The Inquisition's resources are still scarce and limited in Skyhold, and Cullen will not waste them on things as minor as a headache he can easily work through.

Sort of easily. Cullen sighs and picks through the pile of paper on his desk with one hand, the other pressing two knuckles into his temple, as he looks for a patrol report from the Hissing Wastes. He just had the report in hand not one moment earlier, and has managed to misplace it in the mess of his desk. An impossible seeming feat he's managed to reproduce four times over the last hour as more requests and problems came pouring in.

No rest for the wicked indeed.

Cullen finds the paper and notes the numbers he needed down on the reply he's crafting for Josephine. The paper gets set aside, and Cullen takes a brief second to breathe before reaching for the next request that was piled onto his desk.

"By the Maker, you look as awful as everyone says," the click of one of the doors opening comes only a fraction of a second before the voice, and on a better day Cullen might have made some quip about Dorian not waiting to see with his own eyes before making a declaration.

"Dorian," Cullen says with a weary sigh instead. Both hands flying out to slam down on the loose papers on his desk as the mage brings a sharp wind with him when he enters. The papers stir and a few scatter on the floor before the door shuts. "What do you need?"

"Oh if we're going to go on about what I need we'd be here for a full month," Dorian doesn't seem phased in the least by Cullen's abrupt behavior. Nor is he deterred by it. The man strides across the room and places a small, chipped tray down right in the center of the desk. Not even glancing at the papers he's undoubtedly crushing. "No, Commander, I'm afraid I am here strictly for what you need. Or what Cole said you needed anyway."

Tea. Sharp and almost astringent hits Cullen's nose as Dorian flips over a small cup and pours out a stream of liquid from a kettle. The familiar scent immediately eases the tightness around his eyes. "I am fine, Dorian. You did not need to-"

"Well, of course I did not _need_ to," Dorian's smile as he forces the cup into Cullen's hand is bright and edged with a polite threat that makes him accept the cup. It's a large smile that doesn't match the level of his voice at all. A low, pleasant thing that doesn't make the hurt worse like Cullen knows it could. Considerate. "Just like you don't need to get all of this," one be-ringed hand waves vaguely over the entirety of the desk with obvious contempt, "finished tonight. The world will not end if a few nosy nobles have to wait an extra day or two to find out how many steps our patrols make before lunch."

The tea is especially strong, and Cullen can taste the elfroot that's been added to it. It goes straight to his nose with enough power to make his eyes water a bit before clearing, and taking most of the headache away with it instantly. Too fast for the tea to be simply herbs. A waste of resources and Dorian's magic as well, and Cullen feels as grateful for it as he feels consternation.

"Are you sure about that?" Cullen tries his hand at teasing though he knows the attempt weak when Dorian only wordlessly refills his cup, and then stares him down until he drinks it.

"Thank you, Dorian, and thank Cole for me as well," Cullen says and he means it. The headache is nothing but a faint memory now, and -wasteful as it was- Cullen knows to be thankful for the brief respite in light of how very much he truly does have to get finished before the night comes. "But I really am fine, and this cannot wait."

"Well, then, if you insist on answering every asinine request," Dorian clicks his tongue like a mother herding her children in the market. He doesn't stop Cullen from rearranging the tray to get to the papers underneath, but he also doesn't leave. He turns instead to drag one of the better preserved chairs up to the desk. "I suppose I can sacrifice a few hours of my own precious time to deal with the truly ridiculous ones while you focus on the real work that needs to be done."

"What? No, Dorian you can't-"

"Of course I can!" Dorian cuts in sharply and he arches one eyebrow at Cullen even as he starts sorting through the reports. "Oh, what? Don't let the Vint see the precious inner workings of Inquisition forces even though you all know perfectly well Lavellan tells me everything? I dare say, I'm more well informed of the contents of these papers than you are right now, Commander."

"That's not what I was going to say, Dorian. Don't put words in my mouth," Cullen frowns and the motion brings a twinge of pain with it until he lets the expression go. Watching as Dorian begins to sort the papers into two different piles. "I merely meant that this kind of minutia falls outside of your area of expertise."

"Believe me when I say it does not," Dorian smirks and some of the sharpness is gone in that movement. He pulls out a single sheet of delicate looking paper and waves it in his face. "Unless you'd like to tell me why a request from an Orlesian Duke about troop numbers also includes questions on your personal finances and eligibility?"

"I don't-" Cullen starts and then stops to look at the paper in dismay. He can't read the entirety of it with Dorian moving it around, but he can clearly see enough words to not want to. "Sweet Andraste, I thought Josephine was intercepting all of those!"

"Oh, she does, do not doubt that," Dorian places the paper on the pile he is evidently claiming as his own and continues to sort through the rest. The pile for Cullen is significantly larger, but the ones Dorian is keeping are not inconsiderable. "Some simply slip through, and most of this," Dorian flips through the smaller stack with a thumb, "should have been intercepted as well. Trust me, Commander, these are all requests meant to waste your time for no other reason than boredom or petty spite. And I am rather an expert at dealing with bored and petty nobles."

"Far more than I am," Cullen agrees with a small smile, because it's no secret how Cullen would like to deal with politics and nobility if given the chance. "Still, you shouldn't have to waste your time dealing with this."

"Too late!" Dorian says and he is in fat stealing Cullen's best quill to write with. "I am a man of my words, and won't go back on my offer. Enjoy it, Commander, because the next time you overwork yourself I just might decide to spend my valuable time in the tavern instead."

"Thank you," Cullen repeats and the words sound inadequate as he reaches for another writing implement, but they're all he has right now. That and a smile as he looks at the next report.

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"His head doesn't hurt so much anymore," Cole murmurs to the small yellow flames that grow smaller and smaller without anything to feed them. Though they dance faster the smaller they get. "That's not what makes him smile though. It's nice not to be alone. Not what he really needs, but he doesn't know what he needs yet. Neither of them do, but they will understand soon."

The flames dance in agreement and Cole feeds them some of the scrap bits of wood he gathered earlier in the kitchen after Dorian had taken the healing tea away.

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End file.
